Uninvited Guests

The footsteps were measured. Controlled.

Whoever was approaching wasn't in a rush. They weren't charging in blindly or hesitating at the door.

They knew exactly what they were walking into.

Ezra hated that.

He flexed his fingers, feeling the weight of the chains still wrapped around his soul. They didn't jingle. They didn't clatter.

They simply existed.

A reminder that he wasn't just himself anymore.

His other self leaned against the wall, grinning. "Nervous?"

Ezra shot him a dry look. "Should I be?"

"Probably."

The door creaked open.

Light from the hallway spilled into the dim monastery chamber.

Ezra caught a glimpse of hooded figures —three, maybe four—before one of them stepped forward, casting a long shadow across the floor.

A woman.

She was tall, draped in dark robes, her face hidden beneath a deep hood. But it wasn't her appearance that made Ezra's instincts scream.

It was the pressure.

Not magic. Not raw power.

But something worse.

Something like authority.

Like a law written into the fabric of reality itself.

The woman stopped a few steps away. "You woke up earlier than expected."

Ezra crossed his arms. "Yeah, I have a bad habit of ruining people's expectations."

His other self let out a quiet chuckle.

The woman tilted her head slightly, ignoring the remark. "The chains are still with you."

Ezra's grip on his arm tightened.

So she knew.

She knew about the binding.

And worse—she spoke like someone who understood it.

Ezra forced a smirk. "Let me guess. You're here to help?"

The woman's hood shifted slightly, as if she were smiling.

"No. I'm here to test you."

The temperature in the room dropped.

Ezra's smirk faded.

Because he recognized that tone.

It wasn't a threat.

It was a statement.

And then— the air cracked.

Ezra moved.

Not by instinct. Not by thought.

By necessity.

Because something was already swinging for his throat.